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THE FIR TREE
Out in the woods stood a nice little Fir Tree. The place he had was a very good one: the sun shone 
on him: as to fresh air, there was enough of that, and round him grew many large-sized comrades, 
pines as well as firs. But the little Fir wanted so very much to be a grown-up tree.
He did not think of the warm sun and of the fresh air; he did not care for the little cottage children 
that ran about and prattled when they were in the woods looking for wild-strawberries. The children
often came with a whole pitcher full of berries, or a long row of them threaded on a straw, and sat 
down near the young tree and said, “Oh, how pretty he is! What a nice little fir!” But this was what 
the Tree could not bear to hear.
At the end of a year he had shot up a good deal, and after another year he was another long bit 
taller; for with fir trees one can always tell by the shoots how many years old they are.
“Oh! Were I but such a high tree as the others are,” sighed he. “Then I should be able to spread out 
my branches, and with the tops to look into the wide world! Then would the birds build nests 
among my branches: and when there was a breeze, I could bend with as much stateliness as the 
others!”
Neither the sunbeams, nor the birds, nor the red clouds which morning and evening sailed above 
him, gave the little Tree any pleasure.
In winter, when the snow lay glittering on the ground, a hare would often come leaping along, and 
jump right over the little Tree. Oh, that made him so angry! But two winters were past, and in the 
third the Tree was so large that the hare was obliged to go round it. “To grow and grow, to get older
and be tall,” thought the Tree—“that, after all, is the most delightful thing in the world!”
In autumn the wood-cutters always came and felled some of the largest trees. This happened every 
year; and the young Fir Tree, that had now grown to a very comely size, trembled at the sight; for 
the magnificent great trees fell to the earth with noise and cracking, the branches were lopped off, 
and the trees looked long and bare; they were hardly to be recognised; and then they were laid in 
carts, and the horses dragged them out of the wood.
Where did they go to? What became of them?
In spring, when the swallows and the storks came, the Tree asked them, “Don’t you know where 
they have been taken? Have you not met them anywhere?”
The swallows did not know anything about it; but the Stork looked musing, nodded his head, and 
said, “Yes; I think I know; I met many ships as I was flying hither from Egypt; on the ships were 
magnificent masts, and I venture to assert that it was they that smelt so of fir. I may congratulate 
you, for they lifted themselves on high most majestically!”
“Oh, were I but old enough to fly across the sea! But how does the sea look in reality? What is it 
like?”
“That would take a long time to explain,” said the Stork, and with these words off he went.
“Rejoice in thy growth!” said the Sunbeams. “Rejoice in thy vigorous growth, and in the fresh life 
that moveth within thee!”
And the Wind kissed the Tree, and the Dew wept tears over him; but the Fir understood it not.
When Christmas came, quite young trees were cut down: trees which often were not even as large 
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or of the same age as this Fir Tree, who could never rest, but always wanted to be off. These young 
trees, and they were always the finest looking, retained their branches; they were laid on carts, and 
the horses drew them out of the wood.
“Where are they going to?” asked the Fir. “They are not taller than I; there was one indeed that was 
considerably shorter; and why do they retain all their branches? Whither are they taken?”
“We know! We know!” chirped the Sparrows. “We have peeped in at the windows in the town 
below! We know whither they are taken! The greatest splendor and the greatest magnificence one 
can imagine await them. We peeped through the windows, and saw them planted in the middle of 
the warm room and ornamented with the most splendid things, with gilded apples, with 
gingerbread, with toys, and many hundred lights!”
“And then?” asked the Fir Tree, trembling in every bough. “And then? What happens then?”
“We did not see anything more: it was incomparably beautiful.”
“I would fain know if I am destined for so glorious a career,” cried the Tree, rejoicing. “That is still 
better than to cross the sea! What a longing do I suffer! Were Christmas but come! I am now tall, 
and my branches spread like the others that were carried off last year! Oh! were I but already on the 
cart! Were I in the warm room with all the splendor and magnificence! Yes; then something better, 
something still grander, will surely follow, or wherefore should they thus ornament me? Something 
better, something still grander must follow—but what? Oh, how I long, how I suffer! I do not know 
myself what is the matter with me!”
“Rejoice in our presence!” said the Air and the Sunlight. “Rejoice in thy own fresh youth!”
But the Tree did not rejoice at all; he grew and grew, and was green both winter and summer. 
People that saw him said, “What a fine tree!” and towards Christmas he was one of the first that was
cut down. The axe struck deep into the very pith; the Tree fell to the earth with a sigh; he felt a pang
—it was like a swoon; he could not think of happiness, for he was sorrowful at being separated 
from his home, from the place where he had sprung up. He well knew that he should never see his 
dear old comrades, the little bushes and flowers around him, anymore; perhaps not even the birds! 
The departure was not at all agreeable.
The Tree only came to himself when he was unloaded in a court-yard with the other trees, and heard
a man say, “That one is splendid! We don’t want the others.” Then two servants came in rich livery 
and carried the Fir Tree into a large and splendid drawing-room. Portraits were hanging on the 
walls, and near the white porcelain stove stood two large Chinese vases with lions on the covers. 
There, too, were large easy-chairs, silken sofas, large tables full of picture-books and full of toys, 
worth hundreds and hundreds of crowns—at least the children said so. And the Fir Tree was stuck 
upright in a cask that was filled with sand; but no one could see that it was a cask, for green cloth 
was hung all round it, and it stood on a large gaily-colored carpet. Oh! how the Tree quivered! What
was to happen? The servants, as well as the young ladies, decorated it. On one branch there hung 
little nets cut out of colored paper, and each net was filled with sugarplums; and among the other 
boughs gilded apples and walnuts were suspended, looking as though they had grown there, and 
little blue and white tapers were placed among the leaves. Dolls that looked for all the world like 
men—the Tree had never beheld such before—were seen among the foliage, and at the very top a 
large star of gold tinsel was fixed. It was really splendid—beyond description splendid.
“This evening!” they all said. “How it will shine this evening!”
“Oh!” thought the Tree. “If the evening were but come! If the tapers were but lighted! And then I 
wonder what will happen! Perhaps the other trees from the forest will come to look at me! Perhaps 
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the sparrows will beat against the windowpanes! I wonder if I shall take root here, and winter and 
summer stand covered with ornaments!”
He knew very much about the matter—but he was so impatient that for sheer longing he got a pain 
in his back, and this with trees is the same thing as a headache with us.
The candles were now lighted—what brightness! What splendor! The Tree trembled so in every 
bough that one of the tapers set fire to the foliage. It blazed up famously.
“Help! Help!” cried the young ladies, and they quickly put out the fire.
Now the Tree did not even dare tremble. What a state he was in! He was so uneasy lest he should 
lose something of his splendor, that he was quite bewildered amidst the glare and brightness; when 
suddenly both folding-doors opened and a troop of children rushed in as if they would upset the 
Tree. The older persons followed quietly; the little ones stood quite still. But it was only for a 
moment; then they shouted that the whole place re-echoed with their rejoicing; they danced round 
the Tree, and one present after the other was pulled off.
“What are they about?” thought the Tree. “What is to happen now!” And the lights burned down to 
the very branches, and as they burned down they were put out one after the other, and then the 
children had permission to plunder the Tree. So they fell upon it with such violence that all its 
branches cracked; if it had not been fixed firmly in the ground, it would certainly have tumbled 
down.
The children danced about with their beautiful playthings; no one looked at the Tree except the old 
nurse, who peeped between the branches; but it was only to see if there was a fig or an apple left 
that had been forgotten.
“A story! A story!” cried the children, drawing a little fat man towards the Tree. He seated himself 
under it and said, “Now we are in the shade, and the Tree can listen too. But I shall tell only one 
story. Now which will you have; that about Ivedy-Avedy, or about Humpy-Dumpy, who tumbled 
downstairs, and yet after all came to the throne and married the princess?”
“Ivedy-Avedy,” cried some; “Humpy-Dumpy,” cried the others. There was such a bawling and 
screaming—the Fir Tree alone was silent, and he thought to himself, “Am I not to bawl with the 
rest? Am I to do nothing whatever?” for he was one of the company, and had done what he had to 
do.
And the man told about Humpy-Dumpy that tumbled down, who notwithstanding came to the 
throne, and at last married the princess. And the children clapped their hands, and cried. “Oh, go on!
Do go on!” They wanted to hear about Ivedy-Avedy too, but the little man only told them about 
Humpy-Dumpy. The Fir Tree stood quite still and absorbed in thought; the birds in the wood had 
never related the like of this. “Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he married the princess! Yes,
yes! That’s the way of the world!” thought the Fir Tree, and believed it all, because the man who 
told the story was so good-looking. “Well, well! who knows, perhaps I may fall downstairs, too, 
and get a princess as wife!” And he looked forward with joy to the morrow, when he hoped to be 
decked out again with lights, playthings, fruits, and tinsel.
“I won’t tremble to-morrow!” thought the Fir Tree. “I will enjoy to the full all my splendor! To-
morrow I shall hear again the story of Humpy-Dumpy, and perhaps that of Ivedy-Avedy too.” And 
the whole night the Tree stood still and in deep thought.
In the morning the servant and the housemaid came in.
“Now then the splendor will begin again,” thought the Fir. But they dragged him out of the room, 
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and up the stairs into the loft: and here, in a dark corner, where no daylight could enter, they left 
him. “What’s the meaning of this?” thought the Tree. “What am I to do here? What shall I hear 
now, I wonder?” And he leaned against the wall lost in reverie. Time enough had he too for his 
reflections; for days and nights passed on, and nobody came up; and when at last somebody did 
come, it was only to put some great trunks in a corner, out of the way. There stood the Tree quite 
hidden; it seemed as if he had been entirely forgotten.
“‘Tis now winter out-of-doors!” thought the Tree. “The earth is hard and covered with snow; men 
cannot plant me now, and therefore I have been put up here under shelter till the spring-time comes!
How thoughtful that is! How kind man is, after all! If it only were not so dark here, and so terribly 
lonely! Not even a hare! And out in the woods it was so pleasant, when the snow was on the 
ground, and the hare leaped by; yes—even when he jumped over me; but I did not like it then! It is 
really terribly lonely here!”
“Squeak! Squeak!” said a little Mouse, at the same moment, peeping out of his hole. And then 
another little one came. They snuffed about the Fir Tree, and rustled among the branches.
“It is dreadfully cold,” said the Mouse. “But for that, it would be delightful here, old Fir, wouldn’t 
it?”
“I am by no means old,” said the Fir Tree. “There’s many a one considerably older than I am.”
“Where do you come from,” asked the Mice; “and what can you do?” They were so extremely 
curious. “Tell us about the most beautiful spot on the earth. Have you never been there? Were you 
never in the larder, where cheeses lie on the shelves, and hams hang from above; where one dances 
about on tallow candles: that place where one enters lean, and comes out again fat and portly?”
“I know no such place,” said the Tree. “But I know the wood, where the sun shines and where the 
little birds sing.” And then he told all about his youth; and the little Mice had never heard the like 
before; and they listened and said,
“Well, to be sure! How much you have seen! How happy you must have been!”
“I!” said the Fir Tree, thinking over what he had himself related. “Yes, in reality those were happy 
times.” And then he told about Christmas-eve, when he was decked out with cakes and candles.
“Oh,” said the little Mice, “how fortunate you have been, old Fir Tree!”
“I am by no means old,” said he. “I came from the wood this winter; I am in my prime, and am only
rather short for my age.”
“What delightful stories you know,” said the Mice: and the next night they came with four other 
little Mice, who were to hear what the Tree recounted: and the more he related, the more he 
remembered himself; and it appeared as if those times had really been happy times. “But they may 
still come—they may still come! Humpy-Dumpy fell downstairs, and yet he got a princess!” and he 
thought at the moment of a nice little Birch Tree growing out in the woods: to the Fir, that would be
a real charming princess.
“Who is Humpy-Dumpy?” asked the Mice. So then the Fir Tree told the whole fairy tale, for he 
could remember every single word of it; and the little Mice jumped for joy up to the very top of the 
Tree. Next night two more Mice came, and on Sunday two Rats even; but they said the stories were 
not interesting, which vexed the little Mice; and they, too, now began to think them not so very 
amusing either.
“Do you know only one story?” asked the Rats.
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“Only that one,” answered the Tree. “I heard it on my happiest evening; but I did not then know 
how happy I was.”
“It is a very stupid story! Don’t you know one about bacon and tallow candles? Can’t you tell any 
larder stories?”
“No,” said the Tree.
“Then good-bye,” said the Rats; and they went home.
At last the little Mice stayed away also; and the Tree sighed: “After all, it was very pleasant when 
the sleek little Mice sat round me, and listened to what I told them. Now that too is over. But I will 
take good care to enjoy myself when I am brought out again.”
But when was that to be? Why, one morning there came a quantity of people and set to work in the 
loft. The trunks were moved, the tree was pulled out and thrown—rather hard, it is true—down on 
the floor, but a man drew him towards the stairs, where the daylight shone.
“Now a merry life will begin again,” thought the Tree. He felt the fresh air, the first sunbeam—and 
now he was out in the courtyard. All passed so quickly, there was so much going on around him, 
the Tree quite forgot to look to himself. The court adjoined a garden, and all was in flower; the 
roses hung so fresh and odorous over the balustrade, the lindens were in blossom, the Swallows 
flew by, and said, “Quirre-vit! My husband is come!” but it was not the Fir Tree that they meant.
“Now, then, I shall really enjoy life,” said he exultingly, and spread out his branches; but, alas, they 
were all withered and yellow! It was in a corner that he lay, among weeds and nettles. The golden 
star of tinsel was still on the top of the Tree, and glittered in the sunshine.
In the court-yard some of the merry children were playing who had danced at Christmas round the 
Fir Tree, and were so glad at the sight of him. One of the youngest ran and tore off the golden star.
“Only look what is still on the ugly old Christmas tree!” said he, trampling on the branches, so that 
they all cracked beneath his feet.
And the Tree beheld all the beauty of the flowers, and the freshness in the garden; he beheld 
himself, and wished he had remained in his dark corner in the loft; he thought of his first youth in 
the wood, of the merry Christmas-eve, and of the little Mice who had listened with so much 
pleasure to the story of Humpy-Dumpy.
“‘Tis over—‘tis past!” said the poor Tree. “Had I but rejoiced when I had reason to do so! But now 
‘tis past, ‘tis past!”
And the gardener’s boy chopped the Tree into small pieces; there was a whole heap lying there. The
wood flamed up splendidly under the large brewing copper, and it sighed so deeply! Each sigh was 
like a shot.
The boys played about in the court, and the youngest wore the gold star on his breast which the Tree
had had on the happiest evening of his life. However, that was over now—the Tree gone, the story 
at an end. All, all was over—every tale must end at last.
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